


Add, Rinse, Repeat

by Medie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least, when she does this, she's usually laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Add, Rinse, Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**fic_promptly**](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/) prompt: John/Sherlock/Mary, bailing them out is a regular occurrence

Molly and Mrs. Hudson accompany her. It isn't the first time she's had to do this, she's actually lost count of how many visits she's made to this particular place, but it certainly is one of the more memorable ones.

"I'm fine, you know," Mary says, getting out of the cab. She turns back, careful not to close the door on her dress or Sherlock's coat. "You might have stayed back at the flat."

"Oh, no dear," Mrs. Hudson tuts, reaching up to tuck one of Mary's curls behind her ear. "We couldn't possibly."

"Not when there's a chance you might strangle them both," Molly says with a smile. "You'll need Mrs. Hudson for alibi and I'll deal with the evidence, of course."

"Arrested on your wedding day," Mrs. Hudson shakes her head. "It's going to take some doing to charm themselves out of this one." 

Mary laughs. "Not really, but I'm not going to tell _them_ that. More fun this way." 

*

At least, when she does this, she's usually laughing. The reason for that laughter varies, but mostly, though its to do with the sheepish expression on John's face. 

This particular time, however, it's to do with their circumstances. Greg's smirking when he opens the door and they make their way to the holding cells. "Honestly, Mary, don't know how you put up with them."

"They have their moments," Mary says, laughing. 

Like now with Sherlock draped across the bench and fast asleep with his head in John's lap. The cell is full, some men sitting on the floor, some propped against the wall and not a one complaining about their current circumstances. In fact, they're all as meek and mild as lambs. 

Well, if one ignores the crying man in the corner. Mary takes in his neatly bandaged wrist, recognizes the handiwork there, and at once understands why John is looking at her the way he is.

Greg leans himself against the cell, grinning at her, and nods in the direction of Sherlock and John both. "You're absolutely certain you want them back?" 

"Well," Mary drags the word out, arms folded across her chest, just to enjoy the frustrated way Sherlock huffs. 

"Oh do hurry up, Mary!" he complains, sitting up. "We've been here for _ages_ —"

"Three hours, twenty-five minutes," Mary corrects, "And most of that because someone ran down the charge on my phone again so I couldn't get the call." 

Sherlock makes a face. "Yours was closer."

"Count yourself lucky that Greg thought to call yours," she says, shaking her head. Closer. Hers was right beside his on the bedside table. Precisely where she'd put them the night before. 

She looks at Greg and smiles. "Any chance of just taking the one?" This is said with a finger pointed in John's direction.

"Oh, no you don't, they're a packaged set and you well know it. There'll be no leaving anyone behind today." Greg smirks. "Especially not our dear Mr. Holmes." 

"Pity," Mary says, "We've only just got the flat straightened up. Mrs. Hudson and I were planning on spending an evening in watching telly." 

Sherlock hops up, coming to the bars. "No, you weren't. You were—" he leans in, sweeps his gaze over her, and Mary smiles. She can almost count the seconds off before he puts the pieces together and his pupils dilate with interest. She wonders what tipped him off precisely. The strap of her favorite bra peeking out from beneath her jumper, the scent of the perfume she's wearing, or some other sign she's not aware she's projecting. "Ah, yes, well, wrong in part then."

"Only part," she says, pleased by the way they're both staring. "And all right, I suppose I'll take the both of them." She looks at Greg. "Any chance I can return him later should he give me reason?"

"Christ, no," Greg laughs, waving the guard forward to unlock the cell and let John and Sherlock out. "The lads've signed a petition. They're begging you not to bring them back."

Mary shakes her head. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do."

*

Mycroft calls at a rather unconscionable hour. Wrapping herself up in a robe, Mary rubs at her eyes and makes her way out to the door. "Terribly sorry to disturb you, my dear, but there's been a small _situation_." 

It's interesting, in a way, just how different one brother is from the other and yet not much at all. Mary looks at Mycroft, subdued and quiet in his perfectly pressed suit (as though it isn't closer to dawn than dusk and there's a snowstorm blanketing London) and tries to sort out just what he means by 'small situation'. 

Sherlock might shout it from the rooftops whilst Mycroft speaks in quiet tones, but they're both the same. Coming from them, a supposedly small situation might be anything, but it certainly wouldn't be what she or anyone else would consider 'small'. 

"I don't want to know, do I?" she asks, covering a yawn behind her hand. 

"Most likely not," Mycroft says. "However, I am unable to retrieve them myself. There are sensitive matters involved to which I'd rather not have my name associated. You understand, of course." 

Not at all, but Mary long ago came to the conclusion that she'd rather not know anything at all about what Mycroft does, or does not, attach himself to.

She sighs, turning away from the door. "Exactly which agency has them and how much will it cost?"

*

Sally meets her at the door for the next one. "I can understand John," she says, holding it open for Mary. "Most days, at any rate, but _him_?" 

Digging about in her bag for her wallet, Mary laughs. "Sherlock--well, it's somewhat difficult to explain." She might say it's the sex (which, really, all that focus fixed upon figuring out a lover's most responsive erogenous zones? Sally's a bright woman, if she can't figure that out then Mary has absolutely no intentions of making it easy on her) but it's so much more than that. 

Even if, most days, she thinks Sherlock might be driving them all completely mental.

"Difficult?" Sally looks dubious. "Impossible is more like."

Mary smiles. "Is it the fact that it's Sherlock Holmes, or that it's the both of them at once?"

Sally's eyes dart away and tell the tale. 

"I thought as much." Producing her wallet, Mary bites her tongue and resolves to be nice. "That is surprisingly easy to explain." She looks up at the two of them. Sherlock is wearing, of all things, a nun's habit and John is in a rather garish Christmas jumper and she can't wait to hear this one.

"Yeah, I'd call it Stockholm Syndrome, but I don't think you would." 

"No, I wouldn't," Mary says. "It's a completely different world with those two. They're wonderfully maddening on their own, but together?" She meets John's eyes and watches him smile at the sight of her. He nudges Sherlock who lifts his head and then sits up all in a rush. 

He'll be at the door by the time she reaches them and, yes, she can tell this is going to be a good one. 

"They saved my life the first time I met them," Mary says. "And they've saved it a thousand times since."

"And nearly gotten you killed just as many," Sally's expression tells just what she thinks of _that_.

"Well, naturally," Mary agrees. "That's half the fun."

"MARY!' Sherlock is all but bouncing in his hurry to get out the door. "Come on, hurry up! If you don't get us out of here—"

"You'll hold your breath and scream all at the once?" Mary shakes her head. "Do you know how many promises I had to make this time? I think Mycroft's signed away half the treasury to get you two out of here."

Sherlock sniffs and looks at Sally. "Malicious prosecution. It was entirely accidental."

"I've seen the damage, Sherlock," Mary laughs. "The words Act of God are being bandied about." Proof positive that London should be more concerned about keeping Sherlock Holmes occupied than any potential terrorist threats. Al Qaeda couldn't possibly compete with a bored Sherlock in terms of destructive capability. Idle hands indeed.

"Please," John says, looking weary. "Don't give him any ideas as to potential deification. You know how he gets about that."

Mary looks at Sally and Sally returns it. Mary can almost see their entire conversation being played back in her gaze. "I know, I know," Mary says, smiling. "You don't understand it."

"Of course not," Sherlock sniffs. "As if she can possibly comprehend the things you do."

It's high praise coming from him, but Mary still feels like apologizing. Or, at least, she would if not for the way Sally seems to be hiding a smile. 

"Come on then," she says. "The sooner we get this done, the faster you'll be rid of them." 

*

Sherlock's shirt is only just tucked into his trousers, buttoned wrong to boot, and John's jumper is inside out. 

Putting her hands on her hips, Mary looks at them both and tries to hide a smile. "Public indecency? Really?" 

She at least waits until she's got them in the cab before she tucks her chin and pouts at them both. "And you forgot me?"

Sherlock leans into her, nuzzling along her neck. Not to be outdone, John's hand works its way beneath her skirt and Mary thinks they might need to rethink Mycroft's offer of a private car. 

Her breath catches with Sherlock's lips striking the place behind her ear in tandem with John's fingertips brushing her inner thigh. 

"As if we'd ever forget you," Sherlock says, voice rough. She shivers at the sound of it, eyes closing. "Dear Mary, such a thing just can't be done." 

She grabs hold of his coat, curling her fingers in it as she tries desperately to keep hold of her composure. The poor cabbie. She doesn't dare open her eyes to see what the man is doing. Not with Sherlock and John tormenting her so. "Really, Sherlock, this isn't—this is hardly the time or the place."

"Well, of course not, but it is much better than our previous location." Sherlock says, his lips brushing her skin with every word. "I'd forgotten how impatient John can be. Just couldn't keep his hands to himself."

"Somehow," Mary says, breath hitching, "I don't think John was alone in that." 

At least, this time, it's early evening. If they're to disturb Mrs. Hudson's evening, at least she won't be asleep. 

*

"Threesome in a cab?" Greg shakes his head at her as he unlocks the cell. " _Mary_. You're supposed to be the sensible one."

Grabbing her coat, Mary just grins. "And let them have all the fun? Perish the thought."


End file.
